Wednesday, April 14, 2010

15.30 Hanging Flags

I have alwaysbelieved love to be an emerald thinggrassy and douglas fira gem, everywhere, and sometimes prickly.

With this in mind,I hang my green flagscarefully unfoldthe bonuses and beauties of medust them offfly a few of them half mast on moody daysyank the cords, pull the ropeand hope for wind to notice.

Today, it's my armsthe hugsmy loyalty, my laughterthe guy I held the door open fora big tip I left, waves of neighborsthe faces in dreams I visitedthe fashion of the blood in my hearteasily available for manyspread over friendships in gravybecause I am single.

But I can't talk about the green flagsof all my plus signs without the color oppositethe scarlets, the trampy rouges, the tacky fire enginesof my faultsmy messy floorsaversions to chores and initiation of uncomfortable conversationsmy darting eyesthe quick burn of my Aries flamesmy zealotry for languagethe way money moves like dirty water through my hands.

Red flags are one of the reasons I believe love to benot the color of blood (which we all know is really blue underneath)of ruby upside-down asses in cut-out hearts.The fabric for these is faded, crumpledbut I will say clean and they are so much heavierto run up the poles.I do it dutifullyand never half mastI want the wind to see these first.

Yet on seeingI know the wind, like peoplesometimes breezes color blind.This is where the devious in me relies on the factof statisticred and green color blindnessis by far the most common formabout 99%and causes problems in distinguishingred flagsfrom greens